


hard spell

by lovedeluxe



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Slow Burn, you know what? idk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 14:06:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12367332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovedeluxe/pseuds/lovedeluxe
Summary: In the criminal justice system, summoning demons is viewed as an especially heinous crime. Even if the demon is sexy, and holds the key to your long-term revenge plot. In fact, that probably makes it even more heinous.





	hard spell

**Author's Note:**

> what's shakin!!! halloween's coming up, which is the perfect excuse to kick off my demon contract persona AU. the akeshu is slow burn (the best flavor), and the arushu is... Well. enjoy!

Night falls like any other curtain over a graveyard stricken by natural disaster, visited only by those with family left buried or those who wished to bury another. The fog was thick and oppressive, a static smoke-- a warning charged with magic.

Akira Kurusu, too decisively indie to pick such an obvious spot, was minding his own business in a ditch further down the street.

"Three times. Three fucking times," he muttered, ever charming, throwing his shovel aside and reaching for the salt. "All this manual labor had better net me Satan's slutty little brother."

"You'd better not talk like that while you're making the ring!" There's a flash of glassy blue eyes from Akira's tote-- Morgana was brave enough to come to an attempted summoning, but not to leave the bag. Typical.

"If you throw around names like that, who knows what you'll piss off?"

"As long as it's malicious and trapped, I'm sure we can reach an understanding."

With the salt laid neatly at the base of his makeshift altar and his binding crystal cast, Akira turns to his feline familiar with a lazy smile. "Better cover your eyes if you can't take the suspense."

A warmth spreads in his chest at the "Shut up!" echoing from a deeper point in the bag as he slices his palm on his pocketknife. "Remember, Mona. You're my lookout. Ear to the ground."

Blood pools in his hand for as long as he can hold it-- the spell starts the second a drop touches down.

"Beast of the night, scourge of the graves, let this tithe and those to come bind me to you--"

As the blood he's surrendering dirties the crystal a bitter chill seizes the warm autumn air, sets his hair on end. Akira recognizes it as a good sign... or a bad one, depending on what's listening to him.

"I cannot be denied."

Authoritative. Demanding. He hopes to have nothing in common with the thing he calls forth, because the tone makes his blood boil.

"Heed my word on this night," he spits out, "and be rewarded."

" _Rewarded?_ "

The voice comes from behind him, not from the circle he's staring at-- his first sign that this is nothing like the documentaries.

Instinct locks his body from trembling, and thank whatever had a hand in humanity for that, because what looms over him in the darkness is almost beyond perception.

It has no face, no body, only regalia. Akira's eyes search and find only the seductive taper of silk into lace, into latex. The brim of its hat reveals smoothness no different from a pane of glass-- blank until he spots it, at which point flame seems to ignite the space behind it, carving out the image of a sneer. The air around them is heating back up, and fast.

With a movement carrying the sound of sliding blades it bends at the waistcoat, head tipped in mock-introduction. _Gentlemanly_ , Akira muses, even though he'd never seen anything more pointedly inhuman.

"It was you who called for me, was it not? Take it all in, boy. It may be your only chance."

His voice is dangerous, too. Akira reaches for words and comes up short, watching the devil stoop elegantly on bladed heel, not giving a second's resistance as he's scooped up.

Claws he'd failed to note in detail are suddenly nestled, a many-edged dagger at the dip below his shoulder blades. _At this angle, couldn't they pierce my heart?_

"And what made you so bold," it croons, twisting a lock of his hair between free claws, "as to believe I could be summoned for the entertainment of a child? My tithes are paid in flesh, in bone."

"I have an excess of both." Akira's voice comes flat, even. If this hellish echo of a dead gentleman has already decided to burn him to cinders, there's no point in kissing ass.

"Before you make a pincushion of me, hear me out. Bringing you here wasn't easy."

It seems it will. Talons spread across his back, tearing his bloodied shirt and pressing him to draw up words— it's now, or not at all. "See, there's someone I'm trying to kill."

The glow behind the masklike face intensifies, head cocking in interest.

"The boy speaks of killing. Have you killed before, mon petit? Do you think yourself capable?"

"I know I am."

It-- he seems drawn in by the speed of Akira's response, by the coldness in his tone. His great head straightens, gazing on in a way that makes the boy in his hands feel like prey.

In an effort to distract himself from all the reasons his heart races, Akira fills the silence.

"Last year a man took everything from me... for sport. Like my life was his afternoon ball game." Akira gazes on into the mask, watches it burn brighter still. It aches as he imagines staring at the sun might. "I've been waiting for this chance. I don't care what you do with me once he's dead."

He seems amused at best, and this sets Akira off in a way he seems to feel, wings spreading in time with his rage. Can he feel it? Is he inviting it?

"Give me your power. I wanna burn him and his to the ground. When that's finished... I'll be all yours."

"Is that so? All mine?"

Something low and violent rumbles in that broad chest, hacking out of some unknowable space between brocade and air. In his terror, in his arousal, Akira recognizes it as laughter.

"My name is Arsène, beautiful fool, and you are already mine."

***

On the other end of the city, at a party he didn't want to come to, a boy-wonder police officer feels that heightened sense of unease he associates with a juicy new lead.

Goro Akechi didn't get where he is now-- figuratively, that is, because any of these old goons would've given him a seat just for batting his eyelashes-- by waiting around for safe bets. If it's something he can feel it can only be supernatural, and sure, there's a precinct for that. But when was the last time they'd gotten anything done without him?

"I'll only be a moment!" he chimes, sweet as icing over arsenic, as he sails out onto the balcony and regards the sky with dead eyes.

Though yet unseen, the fresh crime carries a scent-- a bitter tang of molten metal. Fire and brimstone, as the boys would put it, but "the boys" are all middle-aged simpletons. The air retains this charge after any intimate brush between this world and the unknown beyond.

"A summoning..." he says, speaking into the heavy atmosphere. "The work of a witch, or just a fool."

Goro takes a breath he doesn't need, tastes the energy on his tongue and rejects it. "Funny. There isn't a single witch in the registry recorded as having that kind of power. Have you been hiding from me?"

He sets himself up pretty on the rails, considering his next move. _The longer you wait, the further your mark can escape. And if someone else gets to it first..._

With a glance over his shoulder it's decided: Fooling around with the senior set isn't getting him anywhere tonight.

A strong push of the rails knocks him over the ledge, into the air-- he lands on his feet, of course. This is nothing new. Sneaking around irresponsible adults to get shit done is just another Friday.

In his reverie-- the hot thrill that hits Goro each time he does the kinds of things normal people go to jail for-- he's in tune with the chaos of this magic.

It tugs him forward by the senses and he tastes, hears, feels his way to an empty ditch with a scattering of salt inside. He notes footprints, scraps of cloth. Signs of a struggle?

"Hm. What you brought to this side... did it take you? A fitting end, but a vice to my curiosity."

This candy-bar beacon of politeness kneels in his dress pants as he mutters to himself, runs his gloved hand through the dirt and dried blood. Aha! Shame he has no one to brag to.

"I recognize this..." Goro hums, raising the faintly glowing gem to the light. "Won't you be needing it again?" A sweet laugh, completely at odds with his plans to skewer a stranger. "Should I return it to you, witch?"

This wave of impulse, the bird of prey urge to drag a criminal into the light, makes him neglect the possibility that the culprit hadn't really left-- though probably not for much longer.

Goro Akechi doesn't have enough time to see who's creeping up on him with the stick end of a shovel, which is unfortunate. Akira Kurusu doesn't have enough time to see his victim's angel face, which is lucky, or he might not have had the heart to swing.

He's polite enough to catch him, rather than let him fall into the dirt.

"Oh my god-- oh my god!" Morgana pipes up with the eloquence expected of a cat who may have just witnessed a murder. "Did you kill him? Is he dead?"

"Nah."

He's asking, but not listening. "What are you gonna do with the body?!"

Whoever this guy is, he's pretty built. Broad shoulders, grappling arms. That much _boy_ is an awful lot for a textbook squishy wizard to be toting around, but he already seems to know too much.

Akira reaches into the back of his mind, shivers at the heat of Arsene's presence. "... We're taking him home. Heave."

"Ho," a sarcastic baritone rings through his head, and he can't help but laugh as the demon reluctantly grants him the strength he needs.

"Taking him home?! Isn't that, like, the opposite of the goal?" Mona's all the way back out of the bag, trotting as fast as his shaky little legs can carry him, as if he means to help even if he has no thumbs.

"Might be, if he was a bit dumber. As it stands... we need to make sure he forgets this little incident."

As the trio colors the air with sitcom banter all the way home, Goro Akechi lies in wait. Eyes shut, wide awake, mimicking the drape of a fresh corpse in Akira's arms.

_You're gonna pay for that, witch._

**Author's Note:**

> there you have it. things heat up properly in the next chapter, which Might be out by the end of the week. Maybe. it's possible.
> 
> also, if it seems like i'm dropping hints about goro? i am. ;)


End file.
